


In Which Murphy Is Almost A Poet In Two Ways

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4100200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven deals with her grief.  Post 2x08, canon divergent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Murphy Is Almost A Poet In Two Ways

The tin can glinted in the firelight, the moonshine inside sloshing against the sides as she tipped it back and forth.  Raven glared at it, contemplating another sip.  She wasn’t drunk—not yet—but her limbs felt pleasantly heavy and her brain was starting to go fuzzy.  She wondered if this was how it started for her mother, with a tragedy and a decision to drink until it didn’t matter anymore.

Raven wondered if there was enough alcohol on this whole godforsaken planet to make it not matter anymore that Finn was gone.  Finn, the only person she ever considered family, and he was dead because of  _Clarke_.  Raven had taken to sitting near the still every day after she finished her assigned duties—no time for mourning, not on Earth, not with a society to build and fucking Griffin women running things—and practically daring herself to get drunk.  To turn into her mother, a woman she hadn’t seen in months and was probably dead, just like the rest of her family and everyone who ever mattered to her.

Wick had stopped by earlier, his face twisted into a sympathetic smile.  He’d tried talking but all she heard was the dull roar of her blood in her ears.  He stayed for awhile and then sighed heavily as he got up.  She didn’t want to feel bad for ignoring him—she just didn’t want to feel anything at all.  Bellamy strode past (probably on his way to talk to  _her_ , because Clarke Griffin had everything but that wasn’t enough she had to take Finn too) and paused long enough to drop a heavy hand on her shoulder.  Raven touched it absently, appreciative that he didn’t try to make her talk.  He understood that much at least.

 

The moon rose over the hills and still she sat there, contemplating her moonshine.  The chair across from her was empty and she wondered what Finn would say if he was still alive.  Probably make a joke of some kind, but she couldn’t conjure up the appropriate amount of sarcasm and wit to imagine it.  Finn was the funny one, not her.

Someone pulled out the empty chair and snatched the can from her loose grip.  “I wasn’t finished with that,” she snarled and Murphy just rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll get you another one,” he replied and downed the rest of her moonshine in one gulp.  He didn’t get up for a refill and Raven scowled.  At least Murphy was simple.  He was easy to hate; not like Clarke, not like Abby.  Not like those who had been her friends and then betrayed her.

“You drunk?” Murphy asked.

Raven shrugged.  She wasn’t, not really.  Murphy gave her a measured nod and she remembered uncomfortably their exchange in the dropship.   Maybe he understood her better than she gave him credit for.  Not that it mattered.  Not much did these days. 

“You ever going to apologize for trying to throw me to the Grounders?” he asked drily.

“No.  You going to apologize for shooting me?”

Murphy snorted and leaned back, tipping his head up to observe the sky.  He didn’t say anything for a long time.  “She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies,” he said finally, almost reverently.

“The fuck is that?”

“Something I read once.  Back on the Ark.  I didn’t really get it then.  Makes more sense down here.”  He didn’t look at her and finally she looked up.  She’d been avoiding looking at the stars for the past three weeks because all she saw was her first spacewalk and that reminded her of  _him_  and what happened and she couldn’t.  But now she could and she didn’t know why.  It wasn’t Murphy, obviously.  But maybe it was being near someone who didn’t push her, who wasn’t going to try and convince her that Clarke had done what she needed to.  Someone who wouldn’t take Clarke’s side in this, who would let her just wallow in her anger because  _he_  wallowed in his anger like it was the only thing he had.  Maybe it was.

Maybe they weren’t so different.

The guards started the process of shutting down camp for the night, lights flicking off in each quadrant as their checks were completed.  Murphy stood and wordlessly waited as Raven struggled to her feet.  A surge of anger flooded her as she remembered that her leg was  _his_  fault and she wanted to claw his face off, but she didn’t because he didn’t offer her a hand up or carefully arrange his face to hide his pity.  He just waited until she was standing and then headed off towards her tent, not looking to see if she could keep up.

At the flap to her tent he paused awkwardly and she thought she saw the beginnings of an apology on his lips and she couldn’t take that, not from fucking Murphy, so she kissed him instead.  She didn’t remember deciding to kiss him, or even really wanting to, but once she started it felt  _right_.  More right than anything had in months.  His lips were chapped and at first he seemed frozen in place but then something shifted and he parted his lips and slid his tongue in her mouth and grabbed her face his hands,  _hard_ , like he needed an anchor.

It was stupid and reckless but Raven Reyes never liked the safe choice so she fisted her hands in his leather jacket and hauled him into her tent.  He smirked as she shoved him down on her pile of blankets and shrugged off her jacket.  Murphy toed off his boots and tossed his own jacket aside before grabbing her hand and pulling her down on top of him.

She kicked off her shoes, undid her brace, and straddled him and for a split second she wondered if it would always be like this, if every time she was with someone on Earth it would be because of Finn or because she needed to forget him, but then Murphy sat up and pulled out her hair tie, carding his fingers through her hair as he kissed her hard and finally,  _finally_ , her mind went blank.

Murphy shifted and rolled them until he was on top, sliding his hand up her ribcage to the edge of her bra.  Impatient, Raven tugged her shirt off and threw her bra back over her head.  She curled her fingers into the hem of his shirt and pulled that off too.  His skin was warm in the dank chill of her tent as his body covered hers.  He trailed hot, wet kisses down her neck and across her collarbone, moving down to the valley between her breasts and then lower, until he reached her waistband.

His eyes were dark as he popped the button on her jeans and shoved them down over her hips, dragging her underwear along with until they both slid off her calves.  Without preamble he spread her folds with one hand and teasingly licked her center.  The pressure wasn’t enough—too light, to brief—but he kept doing it, getting closer and closer to where she wanted him but not close enough.  Raven knotted her fingers in his hair and tried to pull him closer, force him to give in, but he chuckled and pulled back.  Murphy raised his eyebrows and smirked, which only made her more angry, although her anger melted away somewhat when he returned his tongue to her folds, thrusting into her entrance.  “Goddammit Murphy,” she muttered and felt his laugh but then—fucking  _finally_ —he drew his tongue up to her clit and she dropped her head back and groaned.  Now he moved more quickly.  Gone were the teasing strokes and instead he pressed and sucked and goddamn nearly  _attacked_  her clit until she was thrashing and her thighs were trembling and then her back arched as she came as fast and hard as a rifleshot.

Panting and boneless she lay back on the pile of blankets, a little surprised at the turn of events.  She could just make out his form at the foot of her bed, shuffling around in the dark.  “What are you…?” she started when she realized he was fully dressed.

“I’ll see you around, Reyes,” he said and bent over to press a soft kiss to her lips, her taste still lingering on him, and then he ducked out of her tent into the night air and once again, Raven Reyes was alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I fucking love crackships and labonsoirfemme and themiddleliddle named it The HMS Aggressive Apologetic Cunnilingus so I just couldn’t resist.


End file.
